


Bodyguard

by hazel_lannister



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: (it's not graphic at all), Angst, Bottom Tony Stark, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Tony Stark is an annoying shit but we love him anyway, Top Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:13:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21948634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hazel_lannister/pseuds/hazel_lannister
Summary: After an attempted kidnapping, Pepper insists that Tony get better protection. Which is ridiculous because "attempted" is definitely the operative word, and he by no means needs a bodyguard/babysitter. Especially grumpy, stoic Steve with no sense of humor.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, previous Tony Stark/Pepper Potts
Comments: 27
Kudos: 397





	Bodyguard

**Author's Note:**

> There is a scene towards the beginning of the story where things could turn non-con. The perpetrator is stopped before anything serious happens, but this is a warning in case non-con kissing and some grinding is a trigger, but that is as far as it goes.

“Sir, a ‘Mister Steve Rogers’ is currently requesting access to the lift. He says Ms. Potts sent him,” Jarvis says cooly, interrupting Tony’s tinkering. 

“Did Pepper mention anything?” Tony asks, not looking up from the engine. 

“Yes, she discussed a meeting with protective services with you approximately 34 hours ago.” 

Tony sighs heavily. “Send him up, J,” he says, grabbing a cloth to wipe his hands. He adjusts the tank top that sticks to his body from a mix of oil grease and sweat but then decides that it doesn’t matter anyway; he’s just going to send away the poor schmuck that Pepper hired, pay him off handsomely for getting all the way out here, and then get back to his work confident in the knowledge that he’ll never have to see the man again. 

A moment later, the elevator doors slide open, revealing who is definitely the most attractive man Tony has ever seen. He’s in a neat suit, just lighter than coal and a formal tie. He has light blonde hair and a chiseled jaw, but all of that is very hard to focus on when the man is above six foot, an entire wall of rock-hard muscle. 

Tony peels his eyes up from those thick thighs, up from the narrow waist and enormously broad chest to his face once more, meeting piercing blue eyes surrounded by dark lashes. The eyes are softer than Tony would have expected, clear and blue and open, and they make him look somehow more human despite his ethereal beauty. 

Brick wall gives a polite smile as he walks smoothly into the room, all confidence and professionalism as he breezes in, and Tony almost drops the wrench in his hand because, yes, Jarvis did mention that a man from protective services was coming up, but he failed to mention that said man from protective services was over six feet of all American god-like beauty. Tony would have to reassess his coding. 

“Goodmorning, Mr. Stark,” says the brick wall, gaze cool and polite, not giving away a thing. 

“Ah, it’s morning,” Tony mutters, mostly to himself. 

Brick wall gives a polite smile. “Just past eleven, Mr. Stark.” 

“I never knew someone with this many muscles could speak more than two syllable words,” Tony murmurs again but Rogers doesn’t so much as blink. Perhaps Pepper has briefed him on Tony’s… crass personality. “But Mr. Rogers, I’m afraid there’s been some mistake. I have no need of you or your services.”

Again, Rogers remains stoic and unmoving. 

“I’m happy to pay you for your trouble in coming all this way, but I’m afraid I won’t be able to employ you or your agency.”

Now there is just the hint of a smile, barely even visible and gone in a blink, cold and already seemingly finished with Tony’s bullshit. “I’m sorry, sir. I was told not to take no for an answer, and it is not you who employs me. It’s Mrs. Potts, so if there is a mistake, I suggest you bring it to her, though she did assure me you would be resistant at first.” He says all this with his hands laced professionally in front of him, back tall and straight as he looks Tony right on. 

“‘Course she did,” Tony mutters and looks towards the heavens for a moment. “Wait over there,” he says, gesturing to a bench against the wall before exiting the room. 

He pulls out his phone and clicks on Pepper’s contact. 

“Hi, Tony,” she says and Tony can hear the smile in her voice already. 

“Pepper. Why is there the physical embodiment of masculinity standing in my garage?” 

Pepper breathes a laugh but it sounds to be a mix of fondness and exasperation. “Because you need protection,” she says as though speaking to a child. Ugh. Tony hates that tone. It means he’s already on her last nerve. 

“No I don’t,” Tony says petulantly, even though he knows it’s a lost cause. Pepper has never been one to quit. 

Another sigh. “Tony,” she begins before seeming to rethink. “Can you please do it for my own peace of mind?” 

Now it’s Tony’s turn to huff. “Come on, that’s no fair, you’re playing dirty,” he grumbles but he can’t fight the smile threatening to emerge on his face. 

“You can deal with it,” she retorts without any bite. “Now, I have to go. I just stepped out of a meeting so you need to be civil. I’ll call you later.” 

Tony hums noncommittally. 

“I’m serious, Tony. Steve is great and a good friend of Natasha’s, and it will make me feel better. Be safe. I love you.” She hangs up before Tony can say it back. 

When Tony reenters the room, Steve is still standing tall and straight in a no-nonsense position, ready and formal, untouchable by all. Tony wants to make him crack. What Pepper doesn’t know won’t hurt her. 

“I’ll pay you double what she’s offering for you to tell her you’re refusing the job. Say I’m unmanageable or something-- she’ll buy it,” Tony says halfheartedly, heading back to his working table to resume tinkering. 

Muscle man’s lips twitch slightly, and again, Tony doesn’t know if he’s imagined it or not. “I’m sorry Mr. Stark, but I am here to be of service to you.” 

Tony smirks before throwing Adonis a dazzling smile, laying on the charm thick. “And how much will you be doing to… service me?” 

The innuendo seems to go entirely over the bodyguard’s head as his face doesn’t so much as twitch. “Whatever I need to keep you safe.” It’s a blunt answer, one that Tony should have seen coming, but it’s still disappointing that the blatant sexual innuendo went entirely without a rise. Tony really wants to pick him apart and see what makes him tick. 

Perhaps this little arrangement won’t be as unbearable as he thought. 

… 

After two weeks of probing and poking, Tony deduces that Steve Rogers is undoubtedly the most dull person he’s ever met. He’s easy on the eyes, Tony will give him that much, but otherwise he’s big, broody, and Boring with a capital B. He’s polite and deferential and does his job well, but most of the time he’s just taking up space, silently judging Tony’s life choices from the side of the room. 

And who is he to judge, really? He’s a bodyguard for someone who’s admittedly, an asshole, and seems to stand there, unmoving, lacking a sense of humor entirely. And Tony can be a funny guy.

Worse still, Pepper won’t let him fire Rogers because he’s actually proficient at his job, and despite Tony’s best efforts, always manages to keep one step ahead of the billionaire. Tony has tried, and failed, on numerous occasions to sneak out of functions, use the secret garage that only he and Pepper know about, and a variety of other tactics to lose the tediously uninteresting man. 

It also should definitely be a crime against nature that someone so gorgeous could be so lackluster. He mentions as much to Steve and doesn’t so much as get an eyeroll. He doesn’t even acknowledge that Tony has spoken, and if that isn’t Tony’s biggest pet peeve, he doesn’t know what else it would be. 

Even still-- not that Tony will ever admit it to Rogers or Pepper-- eventually, the bodyguard becomes sort of a stable point in Tony’s life, something he knows will be there when he turns around. The easy confidence that the man exudes is comforting, and Tony feels safe in the knowledge that no matter how Rogers may feel about Tony, he’s not about to let anything happen to him. 

… 

Tony finally loses Rogers for the first time at a party. It’s noisy with polite chatter and it’s late enough in the evening that most of the guests are somewhere between pleasantly tipsy and actually inebriated. He’s not quite sure what snaps within him, but he’s so fucking sick and tired of seeing that dumb, attractive face everywhere he looks, in every corner, at every door, everywhere he goes. 

Nobody can spend this much uninterrupted time with anyone, even if they aren’t talking or even much of a presence at all, but especially with someone so dull and lifeless Tony can’t look at him for another second. 

He says to Steve that he’s going to the restroom and isn’t surprised when Steve follows him down the hallway. But Tony’s been to this house before, or more accurately, mansion. He knows its layout, he’s slept with the woman several times so he knows the ins and outs of the place. And, more importantly, how to sneak out. 

So he goes into the bathroom that connects to the other bedroom and manages to find the back stairwell while Steve awaits outside of the bathroom door. He’s just heading out the front door, texting a quick excuse about an upset stomach to the host, when a large figure moves up behind him from seemingly nowhere. 

He turns sharply, hands raised defensively with one clutching his cellphone, and lets out an audible sigh of relief. “Oh, it’s just you,” he says to Steve, looking back down at his phone to text Happy for the ride. 

“Yeah, it’s ‘just me’. Lucky for you. What were you thinking, I could have been a murderer or kidnapper?!” Steve asks sharply, but it sounds more like an accusation than an actual question. 

Tony gives him a dry look. “Yes, and your ideal location would be in a wealthy, well lit neighborhood on the front porch of a mansion.” 

Rogers doesn’t seem amused. “If it were someone hard to catch alone, as you so happen to be, then maybe, yes. Look, I get it that it’s not ideal in your partying, playboy lifestyle to have someone always around, but there’s a reason that Ms. Potts hired me. So let me do my job.” He says this firmly, jaw set and stubborn, blue eyes flashing in the yellow street lights, and Tony gives him an appraising look before slumping his shoulders slightly. 

Steve won this round, but boy is he going to make him regret it. 

… 

Much to Tony’s dismay, Steve wins the next couple rounds as well. Tony’s plans of evading the man grow from just simple diversions to elaborate escape strategies involving other hired parties and one time a stunt double dressed like Tony. It evolves from a simple attempt to get away from his bodyguard into a challenge to see what lengths he’d have to go to in order to win. 

But despite the fact that Steve looks like a dull brick wall, he actually is intelligent enough to put a stop to every single one of Tony’s escape ploys, and while Tony certainly isn’t putting his entire genius to use, it still takes a fair amount of smarts to do that. 

Steve doesn’t lecture him again, doesn’t even acknowledge that Tony has tried to leave him yet again, and something about the lack of reaction infuriates Tony to no end. 

Something changes when on Tony’s final attempt, his ex confronts him. Well, maybe not confronts. He’d hooked up with Ryan several times over the years, purely physical in nature, but when he’s shoved against the wall outside of the party he’s sneaking out of, putting it mildly, Tony isn’t in the mood. 

He’s a full foot taller than Tony and also well muscled, brown eyes almost black in the muted light. 

“Hey, Ry, it’s been awhile,” Tony manages to grit out casually despite the fact that most lips are on his neck, breath foul and smelling of alcohol. “Listen, I’ve really gotta get back insi--” he chokes off as a hand grabs roughly at his cock through his pants. 

Ryan doesn’t say anything, just grunts and rolls his hips, grinding his dick against Tony’s side. Tony presses at his chest, trying to get the message through, but Ryan either isn’t picking up what he’s putting down or he doesn’t give a shit. Either way, he doesn’t stop his movements or his grinding and Tony feels the beginnings of fear curl in his gut, breath coming more rapidly, but Ryan seems to mistake that for arousal. 

He mutters compliments and moans by Tony’s ear, despite his own soft protestations, and Tony is just debating whether he should just get him off as quickly as possible and get this over with when Ryan suddenly flings backward, ripped off of Tony. 

“What the--” Ryan groans as he stumbles, looking around for the cause of his removal, and Steve is suddenly positioned in front of Tony, placed strategically in between Tony and Ryan. “Who the fuck are you?”

Steve ignores the question. “Happy is waiting out front,” he says, turning to Tony, placing a guiding hand in the small of his back to lead him away, but Ryan apparently doesn’t know when to quit. 

“Hey, wait a second--” he calls, grabbing Steve by the bicep and whipping him around but Steve shrugs him off like Ryan isn’t six feet tall and well built. Although not compared to Steve, but who is? 

“Son, just don’t,” Steve says in a voice that bodes no argument, that is filled with unbridled anger and Tony really wishes he hadn’t disappeared again. God, he’d wanted to make Steve antsy, to break that stony mask, but now he’d give about anything to have it back in place instead of that fiery rage that he can see, barely contained in Steve’s eyes. 

Ryan steps back, grumbling a curse before staggering back into the party. Steve leads him away again, protective arm behind him the entire way to the car. Tony mentally prepares himself for the lecture, suddenly exhausted, and fuck, he really doesn’t want to hear about all of his fuckups right now.

He glances at Steve out of the corner of his eye and the anger is still there, breaths heavier than usual. 

He’s about to apologize, which is really indicative of how much he had to drink and how little he’s slept the last couple days, but Steve speaks first. “Are you alright?” he asks, voice softer than Tony’s ever heard it, and suddenly the hand on his back, that small point of contact, feels much larger than it is. 

“Yeah... Thank you,” he adds as he gets into the car. 

“It’s my job, Mr. Stark,” Steve replies cooly and shuts the car door, effectively ending that conversation. 

Tony never tries to get away from Steve again. 

… 

“Do you ever smile? Or does your perfect jawline not allow that?” Tony asks about a month later, not looking at him as he stares out the window. 

He hears a soft huff of breath, almost a laugh if you’re generous, but Tony is not generous about things like that. He glances out of the corner of his eye and seed Rogers with his lips pursed, amused. “I smile,” he replies, pausing for dramatic effect, “when someone says something funny.” 

Tony gives an affronted look, turning in his seat and clutching at his chest theatrically. “You take that back! I’m always funny, my humor is just too advanced for the likes of some.” With this he gives the other man a look, and Steve can’t seem to keep in his smile down any longer. 

“Keep telling yourself that,” he says shrugging.

Tony rolls his eyes and glances at his phone. “Happy, what’s the ETA?” 

“About fifteen more minutes, Mr. Stark,” Happy replies from the driver's seat. 

Tony isn’t sure when he and Rogers became people who tease each other, when they got that rapport. He’s always been one to throw playful insults around to just about everyone, but he can’t remember when he started launching some back. He can’t remember when the insults became playful for that matter rather than simply a tool to irritate the other man.

But some nights as he clears the tower, specifically Tony’s floor, he and Tony actually talk. It’s not about anything deep or personal, but at times they will make bits of conversation until Steve has finished and leaves for the evening. 

And he’s pleasantly surprised to find that Steve has sass, that he isn’t afraid of talking back to Tony despite his place in high society and the fact that 90% of the people he meets are trying to get into his pockets in some way or another. Steve isn’t like that, at least not as obviously. He’s not afraid to be brutally honest, even though he’s for the most part respectful. 

Eventually, Tony forgets that Steve is almost always a constant presence during the day, standing silently and out of the way but close enough that he can step in at a moment’s notice. Around other people, he wears the smooth, calculating stare of Tony’s first encounter with the man, but every once in a while, usually after a crappy joke on Tony’s part, that mask cracks and Tony can see the flicker of a smile, a glimmer in his eye that shows he’s human. 

…

“Well that was a total bust,” Tony grumbles as Steve holds the car door open for him. “Four hours at that fucking gala and they didn’t even have baked scallops.” 

Steve does his lip-pursy thing that indicates he’s fighting back a smile and Tony grins at him like the cheshire cat. 

“Happy, let’s go drive through Burger King. Steve, what do you want?” he asks, drumming his fingers on his knee. 

“I’m good, thanks,” Steve replies, still staring straight ahead with his usual air of seriousness. 

“So I’m guessing you don’t have cheat days? Is that even a question when someone looks like a literal Adonis?” Tony asks, gesturing uselessly to Steve’s massive body. Steve’s ears redden at the comment, but otherwise he doesn’t react at all. Which, of course, isn’t abnormal in their dynamic. 

By the time they get back to the tower, it’s nearing two in the morning and Tony has been up for a total of forty-three hours and is starting to feel it. Tony waits in silence as the elevator brings them up to Tony’s floor. 

He’s usually uncomfortable for this amount of extended quiet, but he’s too exhausted to make an effort to change it. He’s comfortably zoning, daydreaming about the bed that awaits him when the elevator doors open, which is why he is startled when a large arm bars him entrance. 

Steve looks to be on high alert, assessing the apartment with a calculating gaze, despite the fact that it looks like it always does. 

“What--” Tony starts, but the sharpness of Steve’s look cuts him off. 

“Wait here,” Steve breathes, so lowly that if Tony hadn’t been watching his mouth, he wouldn’t have been able to tell if the command was imagined or not. 

But Tony waits in the oppressive quiet with rigid posture because this is not normal procedure. Steve doesn’t look to be on high alert the way he does right during his nightly inspection. Something is wrong, but Tony doesn’t know what yet.

Steve wanders further into the apartment, hand on his hip as he slowly removes his gun. With cold precision, Steve checks every room before finally entering Tony’s bedroom, in which he remains the longest. When he finally returns, his face is paler than usual, mouth set in a hard line. He looks shaken underneath the mask of cool professionalism. 

“Someone was here,” Steve says darkly. “They somehow managed to get past Jarvis and shut down his security measures for the time they were here. Barton, clear the building, I’m staying with Mr. Stark,” he says to his earpiece before appearing to switch it off. “Listen to me, I don’t know what they were doing, but it doesn’t look like they took anything. They were smart to get in and out without a trace and they came at a time when you’re usually home, which means it wasn’t possessions they were after.” Steve finishes his final sentence darkly, searching Tony’s eyes to make sure that he understands, that he’s still with him. 

“And if we had gotten back at our usual hour, you wouldn’t have been here to stop them,” Tony finishes on a whisper, pursing his lips as he thinks. “Jarvis, pull up footage from the past hour.” 

It turns out that the three masked men that had broken into the penthouse were smarter than they looked, or at least led by someone who was, because they were able to bypass Jarvis’ security and keep him from contacting Tony at the break in. 

They go over the footage and Tony discovers that the flaw should have been an easy fix, something that he should have noticed, and he’s too busy beating himself up for it to realize how close Steve is standing as he leans over Tony’s shoulder, examining the footage as well. 

“We need to get you to a safe house,” Steve murmurs, closer to his ear than Tony expected, then stands up straight. “This place isn’t safe for you until we find out who these men are and who they work for.” 

Tony gives him a dry look, and yes, Tony is a pain in the ass, this is a fact he will fully admit to, but right now he is not arguing for the sake of arguing. “No, I’ll figure out what happened with Jarvis by morning, it’ll be fine.” 

Steve looks at him incredulously, which really isn’t fair, because shouldn’t he know Tony well enough to know that Tony isn’t about to just pack up and move out because a few guys broke in? 

“Jarvis was compromised, Tony. Even if you fix the flaw, who’s to say they won’t find or create other ones? It’s not safe for you to live in such a conspicuous location, alone no less…”

Tony bites the inside of his cheek, considering for a moment. He sets his jaw and opens his mouth to argue the point further, but something in Steve’s look makes him pause. 

“Look, I know I won’t convince you to live somewhere else for the time being. But we should hire someone to stay here. It isn’t safe for you to be on your own.” Steve’s jaw twitches but his look is more pleading than adamant. 

“I don’t want to,” Tony replies petulantly, crossing his arms like a child, but it’s two-thirty in the morning and he hasn’t slept in days so who gives a shit?

“Tony--Mr. Stark, please.” And it’s that slip up, the tiniest mistake of his name, is what makes him crack. 

“Fine,” he says, pausing before fixing Steve with as stubborn a look as he can manage, “but only if it’s you.” 

He expects an argument, or at least a hesitation, but Steve doesn’t even consider for a moment. “Done.” 

The clip of the men fleeing the building plays on a loop, throwing a bluish glow on Steve’s gorgeous features and Tony turns back to the footage for a moment. “How did you know they were here?” he asks, and almost expects a response that’s dark and broody like, ‘it’s my job to know’, but instead, Steve looks away from Tony’s eyes, frowning slightly. 

“I dunno. Didn’t feel right.” He’s still frowning and Tony has never wanted to smooth the wrinkle between someone’s brows this much in his life; he’ll blame it on the sleep deprivation. 

“Well, I should go check on Jarvis,” Tony says awkwardly, and Steve blinks as though sharply pulled from his own thoughts. 

“Yeah. Yes. I’ll go check in with Barton,” Steve replies, pulling out his cellphone and heading into the other room. 

…

Living with Steve is surprisingly not as agonizing as Tony thought it would be. Steve doesn’t press or hover, (any more than usual anyway), and there’s of course the added bonus of seeing Steve in nothing but pajama bottoms when he gets up in the middle of the night for a drink of water. And fuck, if Tony thought his body was incredible in that suit and tie… seeing his bare chest in all it’s broad, chiseled glory is something out of a wet dream. 

Jarvis interrupts for the third time of the afternoon, reminding Tony that he is still a human and needs to eat and drink, to which Tony replies telling him to mute unless it’s a true emergency. 

Music just about as loud as it will go, Tony clankers away, happily ignoring his rumbling stomach. He takes a large gulp of his coffee instead because the sleep is catching up to him but he doesn’t feel like the nightmares of Afghanistan right now. 

Despite the loud music, Tony actually hears the door bang open, which shouldn’t be possible because he’s the only one with the access code to the garage, but to his surprise it’s Steve striding over to him, a man on a mission. “Jarvis, cut the music,” Steve shouts and the room is suddenly eerily silent, other than the hum of machinery. Tony is about to ask how the fuck he got in there when Steve answers his question. “Jarvis told me you’ve been in here for over twelve hours.” 

Tony gives him an ‘and?’ look but Steve doesn’t look amused. 

“You need to eat.” Steve glances at the coffee mug. “Something other than coffee.” 

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business,” Tony grumbles sourly, but there is no heat to his tone, and he sees the glimmer of a challenge in Steve’s eye. 

“Part of keeping you safe is sometimes protecting you from yourself,” Steve explains patiently and Tony rolls his eyes. “You can get up on your own…” he pauses, giving Tony a defiant look, “or I will drag you if I need to.” The threat is full of a playfulness that Tony doesn’t usually see coming from Steve, and as much as the image of Steve using his strength to drag him out is an appealing one, Tony stands, complaining the whole way, but leads the way out to the kitchen. 

…

It’s nearly midnight when Tony leaves the garage, after Steve has forced him to eat three whole meals in the day. He expects Steve to already be in bed but is surprised to see him sitting on the couch in a white t-shirt that’s two sizes too tight, and a pair of sweatpants that do little to hide… some areas. He’s typing away at a laptop on something work related, no doubt; he only gets that pinch in his brows when he’s stressed. 

“You’re up late,” he states factually; he’s hardly one to judge but Steve doesn’t seem the type to keep odd hours. 

Steve shrugs, not replying, still typing away, wrinkle not shrinking. Tony also notices that there are circles under his eyes, dark and baggy, but he still looks unbelievably beautiful. He grabs a drink and takes a seat on the couch next to Steve, sighing obnoxiously once. Twice. 

The typing stops and Steve gives him a ‘can I help you?’ look. 

“Steeeeve,” Tony whines, more obnoxious than usual and Steve rolls his eyes, turning back to the computer. He doesn’t even seem to react to the fact that Tony has never called him by his first name before. 

“Yes, Mr Stark?” Steve asks with practiced formality but Tony can hear the edge of annoyance in his tone. 

“I’m bored. What are you working on?” 

This time Steve looks at him, really looks at him, and appears surprised that Tony is genuinely interested in something other than himself. But Tony can be nice; he’s not always the egotistical asshole the tabloids paint him to be. 

“Just plans for timing and positioning for the event on Friday. Nothing you need to concern yourself with,” Steve says seriously, eyes back on the screen in front of him, and Tony wonders how long he’s been out here working. 

“I’m not worried, but tell me about it anyway. Your voice gets all sexy when you talk about protection,” Tony replies flirtatiously, raising an eyebrow, and Steve rolls his eyes again. 

He begins to discuss numbers and plans and escape routes in case of different emergencies, and the soothing cadence of Steve’s strong, deep voice mixed with the warm buzz of alcohol makes Tony’s eyelids begin to feel heavy. He downs the last of his drink and stands to put it in the sink. He grabs Steve a water and places it on the table next to Steve’s end of the couch wordlessly then sits down once more. 

Steve has stopped explaining when Tony stood so he bids him continue. Soon his eyes are drooping once more and he decides that just for a moment, he’s going to enjoy not living alone. He lies down on the couch, resting his head in Steve’s lap, which is somehow big enough for the computer and his enormous head. 

Steve doesn’t indicate he’s even noticed, but how could he not, and Tony allows himself to drift, warm and surprisingly comfortable. 

… 

Tony wakes up in a cold sweat, a common occurrence for the few nights that he actually does get a couple hours of sleep, but he doesn’t want to be in the dark room and sweaty blankets anymore. He grabs his cup and tips it all the way back but huffs in annoyance when he realizes it’s empty. 

He peels out of his shirt, stuck to his chest and torso, and shivers in the sudden chill of the room on his damp skin. He pulls on a clean tank top and leaves the room. 

There’s a soft glow coming from the kitchen, one not made by the usual appliances and tech but one that Tony has come to associate with Steve’s laptop. He’s not typing this time, and Tony makes his way around the counter to refill his glass of water, glancing at Steve and his restless eyes and slight frown. His lips are pursed unhappily, similar to the look he often gave Tony when he disappeared, but this time Tony doesn’t like it. 

But he doesn’t know what there is that he can do about it. 

“Hey,” he says casually because he can no longer stand the tense silence with the hum of the city outside. Steve glances up briefly but otherwise doesn’t acknowledge him, though the frown lessens slightly. 

Tony grabs Steve a glass when his has finished filling his own because it’s right there and really doesn’t mean anything anyway, and Tony can be polite when he wants to be. He places the glass wordlessly by Steve’s wrist resting on the marble countertop and resists the urge to trail his fingers up that bare arm, sculpted and muscular, along to his back which is only protected by a thin cotton tee. 

It’s an inexplicable urge, one that Tony does not want to analyze, so he quickly retracts his hand, ignoring the way his mind wonders at how close he would have to be to feel Steve’s body heat. 

It’s been a while since he’s gotten laid; sue him. 

Steve doesn’t even glance at him, however, and Tony tries not to find it disappointing that the only time Steve seems to give him an ounce of his attention is when he’s somehow in danger or being a total nuisance. 

He walks briskly to the elevator to make his way back to his room when he hears a soft, “goodnight,” called to his back, and what does it matter if that small word makes Tony fight off a smile. 

… 

Tony actually finishes a project earlier than anticipated about a week later, and Steve seems just about as surprised as Tony is as he trails him out of the garage and back into the living room. His stomach grumbles at him angrily and he pats it mindlessly. 

He glances back to Steve to see the judgemental look that is sure to be there, but instead is met with a blank face that hides a glimmer of concern, concern that Tony is only able to see after months of knowing Steve and due to his highly intelligent brain. 

“I want Chinese,” Tony says to nobody in particular, still eyeing Steve, but is met with an, ‘and what would you like me to do about it?’ look. “I’m gonna order some, wanna join?” 

Steve looks puzzled but not argumentative. “Whatever you need, Mr. Stark,” he says formally, and it sounds off slightly, like Steve is restraining himself despite the odd rapport they’ve built over the past few months. 

“Call me Tony,” he corrects absentmindedly. “If you want,” he adds hastily when Steve looks taken aback. “It can only be when it’s the two of us if that would make you more comfortable…” 

“Whatever you’d like, M-- Tony,” he corrects bashfully, glancing at his feet as he shifts his weight for a moment, and the motion is so boyish and young for the solid man standing before him that Tony can’t help but feel endeared. So of course he has to ruin it with an inappropriate comment. 

“And what if I told you I’d like what is sure to be your monster cock up my ass?” Tony asks sweetly, eyes big and lips in a half pout. 

Steve looks startled for a moment and the tips of his ears redden in that familiar way that is more adorable than it should be, before a half smirk forms on his lips. “Then perhaps I should call you an escort?” Steve asks with that dry tone that anyone that didn’t know him would mistake for seriousness. 

Tony attempts another pout but fails when it turns into an impish grin. “What do you like?” Tony asks, abruptly changing the subject, but it fails to register with Steve because his eyes widen slightly and his gaze flicks down to Tony’s waist before immediately snapping back to his eyes. Tony files that away to analyze later. “To eat,” he adds, putting Steve out of his misery. 

Steve almost visibly sighs, shoulders loosening just a touch and something about the relief in his body language makes Tony fight off a frown. “Oh, uh, I don’t care. I’m flexible, just get whatever you normally do.” 

Tony wants to make a joke about good uses for flexibility but he feels off kilter after Steve’s less than superb reaction to the last one. “Jarvis, make the usual order but double it.” He glances at Steve, taking in the fact that the man probably eats like a horse, and corrects, “Actually, triple it.” 

“The order has been sent, Sir.” 

“I’m gonna go grab a shower,” Tony says, quickly leaving the room without waiting for a response. He glances over his shoulder as he rounds the corner and sees Steve watching him leave, puzzled expression quirking his face. 

… 

When Tony comes back in, the takeout is sitting on the counter unopened. “I didn’t want to, uh--” Steve gestures helplessly and every time it catches Tony off guard to see such a large, imposing man appear so awkward in his movements, despite the graceful confident air with which he walks. 

“Help yourself,” Tony says with an airy wave. “I ordered for both of us.” 

He slides past Steve and begins to dig through the bags, handing him a plate before spooning an assortment of rice, noodles and about every type of meat the place has. What, Tony likes a variety. And leftovers. Sue him.

He looks back at Steve, who is standing awkwardly waiting, still holding the plate protectively in front of him. Tony gestures to the food in a wordless, ‘well?’ 

Steve ducks his head and begins to serve himself carefully, getting small portions of everything. “Want something to drink?” Tony asks, holding up a hipster beer that Steve looks like he would like. Steve hesitates for a moment, biting his lip. “C’mon, live a little. You’re off duty,” Tony prods, checking his watch. 

Steve narrows his eyes, assessing, and then takes the beverage, gazing at Tony assessingly as though looking for his game. But this time, Tony doesn’t have one. He’s not trying to seduce Steve because if he slept with him, he’d have to find a new bodyguard, and he quite likes the one he has. No, there’s no game; perhaps Tony is just feeling lonely tonight and doesn’t feel like the barrage of questions and nagging that is sure to come with Rhodey or Pepper. 

Tony leads the way to the couch and Steve trails silently. “I feel like a movie,” Tony says as he takes a seat, grabbing the remote and flicking on the television. “You wanna watch a movie?” 

Steve’s posture loosens as he reclines on the couch, beginning to eat some of the orange chicken. “Depends on the movie,” he says, eyes mischievous. 

Steve seems like a Saving Private Ryan kind of guy but Tony is no longer a fan of excessive gore and guns in movies after Afghanistan, but he doubts Steve will be picky. “Star Wars?” Tony asks, glancing at Steve, who looks at him consideringly. 

“Depends on the episode,” he replies with an amused smirk playing on his face, and if Tony were a different man, he would almost call it affectionate. 

“Prequels?” Tony asks, fighting off a smile so that the question is believable, but he almost regrets it when Steve’s face sours. “C’mon, Episode III wasn’t bad.” 

Steve shrugs. “The best of the worst,” he says with a chuckle. “I’m joking though. Play whatever you want, it’s your home.” 

“Right now, it’s kind of yours, too,” Tony points out which receives another ambivalent shrug. “How’s episode IV?” he asks. 

Steve grins and Jarvis queues the movie. They eat and joke throughout the movie, and Steve, like few others, is thoroughly impressed by Tony’s spot on imitations of the characters, and his knowledge of the lines before they are said. 

When Tony finishes eating, he places his plate on the coffee table and stretches out on the couch. Despite the fact that it is plenty large enough for two people, Tony enjoys pressing Steve’s buttons, (and maybe, that deep deep down human part of him craves human touch), but that’s for later assessment, so he drops his feet carelessly into Steve’s lap. 

Steve looks at him and raises an eyebrow as he shoves Tony’s feet off of his person. “I’m your bodyguard, not your couch,” he says, turning back to the film. 

Tony grins to himself and begins to inch, oh so slowly, his feet back toward Steve. He’s impressed by his own patience, barely moving a hair each minute until finally his toes touch Steve’s thigh, but the larger man appears not to notice. His feet continue their slow inching until once again they rest in Steve’s lap but this time Steve leaves them where they are. 

Tony thinks that perhaps he is so absorbed in the movie that he just isn’t aware of it, but then one large hand comes to rest on Tony’s ankle, eyes still fixed on the screen. The touch is proprietary and intimate, despite the fact that it’s just a small, casual touch that almost isn’t even there. But Steve doesn’t touch him this way; in fact nobody has in a long time. The casual intimacy of resting his feet on someone’s lap while they watch a movie isn’t something he shares with his hookups, and it’s been years since Pepper… 

But Tony doesn’t want to dwell on that. Instead he revels in the soft touch, the small, occasional strokes of Steve’s thumb, and enjoys the spontaneous Star Wars marathon.

… 

Tony’s in Afghanistan. They’ve tortured him again, Yinsen is dead, and he needs to get out of there. Now. 

He is distantly aware of Jarvis’ voice, but why would Jarvis be here? Tony needs to get out but something is restricting him, he’s hot, he’s stuck, he can’t move. 

He hears his name and he’s about to struggle further, but it’s his first name, not Mr. Stark. “Tony,” he hears again, and he stops resisting the restraints. “Tony, it’s 2011, you’re in New York. You’re in the tower, and you’re safe.” The words repeat, over and over, voice soothing and strong and somehow familiar. “Tony, it’s Steve. You’re safe, you’re here with me.”

Strong arms are wrapped around him, rocking him slowly, a hand stroking up and down his spine soothingly. Tony hears a broken sob and is distantly aware that it came from him, that his face is wet with sweat and tears. Steve doesn’t falter with his steady stream of comforting words, assuring Tony that he is here and he’s okay. 

Eventually Tony calms, embarrassment at having been caught in such a vulnerable circumstance starting to seep in. “I’m sorry,” he chokes out when the sobs have finally finished wracking his body for the most part. 

“Don’t be sorry, you don’t have anything to be sorry for,” Steve hushes, pulling Tony more securely into his lap.

Tony steadies his breathing with his face buried in that huge chest. It’s firm and safe and it rumbles as Steve hushes him and murmurs comforting words. Eventually Tony tries to give himself some space, pushing back from Steve’s chest. 

“Here, have some water,” Steve directs gently, handing him a glass that had previously occupied his nightstand.

Now that Tony has a clearer head and is able to create some space between himself and the larger man, he’s able to fully see the state Steve is in, and any other situation and Tony might almost laugh.

Picture-perfect Steve with his pressed suits and perfect hair is sitting in pajama bottoms and a rumpled t-shirt with his hair sticking up in odd directions, eyes slightly glassy with sleep. He looks young and boyish, and is no longer the crisp and perfect bodyguard, just a young man; an insanely attractive man that held Tony through his tears, let him ugly cry into his t-shirt as if it were something he did every day. 

“Thank you,” Tony croaks out, voice raspy from the crying and sleep, but his mouth feels less dry thanks to the water. Steve wordlessly hands him a box of tissues too, allowing him to pull himself together. Steve looks away as Tony cleans himself up, and for that he is grateful; Steve is really good at that, he’s noticed; he knows when to be a force to be reckoned with and when to make himself scarce. 

When Tony is done, Steve gives him an assessing look and begins to put more space between himself and Tony, starting to stand, but Tony grabs his wrist before he can think about it. 

Steve immediately ceases his movement and doesn’t yank his hand away, which, if Tony had thought before acting, he would have expected of him. But something in the way that Steve is looking at Tony’s hand before glancing back at his face, gaze assessing and gauging, makes Tony want to avoid the lies. 

Any other person and Tony would work to make them unsee what they’ve witnessed, make them believe that Tony is not some weak being plagued by nightmares. He would dazzle them with a smile or a joke, something to distract and deflect. But not Steve. 

Steve sees right through people, and despite Tony’s efforts, has seen Tony at his very worst, and instead of making him feel raw and exposed, it feels intimate… close. So Tony doesn’t avoid the question he’s longing to ask. 

“Will you stay?” Steve’s brows furrow, glancing back down to where Tony’s hand is still latched to his wrist. But he understands, Tony  _ knows _ he understands. Tony has seen the sleepless nights because of nightmares, even if he hasn’t borne witness to the fitful awakenings themselves.

Centuries later, Steve nods slowly, about to stand and take a seat in the armchair in the corner of the room, but Tony doesn’t let go. He can’t put this request into words, but luckily he doesn’t have to.

Steve resumes his seat on the bed and when Tony lies down once more, he hesitates for another moment. Tony flips the comforter aside, a clear invitation, and Steve accepts it. 

He slides awkwardly under the covers and the hour is late enough and Tony is sleepy enough, not to mention the strangely intimate moment they shared before, that he doesn’t dwell on the fact that they are sharing a bed. 

He’s facing away from Steve when he feels the mattress dip as he shifts to get comfortable. He hears Steve’s deep breath in the quiet room, and something about that small noise is comforting. His side grows uncomfortable so he turns over, watching with hooded eyes as Steve lies on his back, staring at the ceiling. 

Lacking inhibition, he moves closer, watching Steve for any negative reaction. Tony’s fingers outstretch without his mind telling them to until the very tips brush against Steve’s arm, lying by his side. Steve looks over, surprised, but when Tony is about to retract his hand, Steve moves his arm, opening up his side to give Tony the space. His eyes are appraising, waiting for Tony’s next move, gaze never leaving his own. 

Tony hesitates for another moment before moving into that space that looks so warm that the nightmares won’t return. Tony pillows his head on Steve’s chest, one arm extended across the massive torso, and Steve’s own arm comes to rest gently along Tony’s rib cage, a warm and comforting weight that keeps him close. 

They say nothing, simply listening to the soothing puffs of breath, and it is to this noise that Tony finally drifts to sleep. He thinks he feels Steve’s lips against his hair but he’s too far gone to really consider it. 

… 

Tony wakes up alone, which isn’t out of the ordinary, but his bed smells like Steve and feels bigger, emptier today. There’s a hole in the base of his gut, something that feels tight and empty, worried that he’s ruined everything. 

Tony had thought they’d had a moment last night--well, several moments--but every sliver of doubt that hadn’t disturbed him when they were sharing a fucking bed comes rushing to him now. Ah well, punishment for having no qualms last night. 

He gets up and dresses, only to find Steve in the kitchen, dressed in his familiar dark suit and tie, clean and crisp the way he so often is. Coffee is already made and Steve sits at the counter, sipping from his own mug, and when Tony walks in, he’s greeted with a polite, “Good morning, Mr. Stark.” 

One step forward, two steps backward. 

…

Tony is hurt by the sudden coldness Steve is displaying, he’s big enough to at least admit it to himself. His jokes are left hanging in the air, teasing is not met with the usual playful insults thrown back. Tony feels like he’s lost a friend, and he’s never been good at coping with less than pleasant emotions; he’s big enough to admit that to himself too. 

And Tony should have known Steve would find him; he always does. But he somehow forgets this or is hurt enough to put it aside when flirting with the handsome blonde at the gala that night. He’s tall and built but has dark eyes, almost black. 

Tony flirts easily but focuses his attention on this man, especially, for no particular reason whatsoever. He asks Steve to go grab him a drink while he uses the bathroom, and with the distraction set, he pulls the blonde man upstairs, (whose name he has already forgotten, Jason, James something or other). 

They find an empty bedroom and as soon as the door is closed, Ja-something sinks to his knees, deftly undoing Tony’s fly. He’s excellent at sucking cock, Tony will give him that; he knows all the tricks and Tony’s arousal is heightened greatly when those dark, dark eyes close and Tony is able to imagine they’re a different color. 

Tony has just finished when the door bangs open and Steve is there, standing tall and stiff, but when he looks at the blonde on his knees and Tony finishing fixing his pants, something cracks in his eyes for less than a blink, real hurt in those blue depths for that brief moment. 

Jason/James stands quickly, wiping at his mouth before exiting the room with his head ducked, and yeah, Steve can be pretty intimidating when he wants to be. Steve stands by the doorway, staring straight ahead, refusing to look at Tony. 

“You’re safer downstairs, Mr. Stark,” he says formally, and the ‘Mr. Stark’ is what really does it and Tony’s blood runs hot, red coloring his vision. 

“Am I? Or are you more  _ comfortable _ with me downstairs?” he asks, voice sharp. 

Steve’s eyes snap to his own and his jaw twitches but he juts his chin stubbornly, refusing to say anything. Tony huffs and rolls his eyes, pushing past Steve to exit the room, and when Steve grabs his wrist with a pleading, “Tony--” he yanks it away, almost regretting it when Steve pulls back as though burned. 

Still, he doesn’t turn back and doesn’t stop walking. 

… 

Their relationship is purely professional for the next couple days, back to the stilted formality of the first several weeks of their time together. Steve no longer smiles at Tony’s random sarcastic comments, no longer joins him for meals nor makes conversation in the car on the way to events. 

Their only interactions are the necessary ones for Steve’s job: planning, questions about events and timing, etc. He barely even looks at Tony anymore as though the disappointment in him is just too much, and Tony hadn’t realized what a loss that would be, hadn’t realized how often Steve was looking. 

Tony spends twenty-six hours in the garage, not as a test, but when he’s reminded for the fourth time by Jarvis that he needs to eat, he’s brought back to a time when Steve came and got him, when Steve cared enough to actually make him sit down for a meal and take care of himself. 

He’s sitting in the backseat chatting idly with Happy while Steve stares out the windshield when Steve hands him the papers. 

“What are these?” Tony asks, too tired to give them a good look since according to Jarvis, it’s been nearly forty hours since he got a full cycle of sleep. 

“My two weeks notice,” Steve answers, looking at his lap and Tony’s world begins to spin, but Steve doesn’t notice and continues to speak. “I will do everything I can to make sure you are set up with a suitable replacement. I have some connections, you need not worry.” His tone is cool and formal, so strange compared to the light teasing tone of what seems like forever ago. 

Tony just looks at him, mouth agape like a complete imbecile, and sure they’ve had a weird past couple days, but this seems out of nowhere. “I don’t want someone else,” Tony says petulantly, knowing he sounds like a child but for the moment he doesn’t give a damn. 

Steve purses his lips as though trying to rein in his temper as he tries to find a way to explain it to a kid. “I am not… best suited to keeping you safe anymore,” Steve says slowly before closing his mouth, refusing to elaborate. 

“Bullshit,” Tony says, rolling his eyes. “Pepper said you were the best in the business, why the fuck--” He cuts himself off, anger halting at the look of pure exhaustion on his face, and this is what Tony does to him. Makes him look like he’s aged ten years. 

Steve wipes a hand down his face and sighs. “I’ve developed… unprofessional feelings for you, ones that complicate my job and impair my ability to look at things in a detached way,” he finally states, voice weary. 

So that’s it then; Steve really does hate him. He’s finally confirming what Tony didn’t want to think about, didn’t want to analyze, and fuck it really shouldn’t hurt as much as it does. 

Tony tries to keep his surprise to himself, tries to give his best neutral look, and he’s usually a better actor than this but his chest feels so tight and he can’t breathe all the way in. He can hear his blood in his ears, face hot and throat in a knot, and he hates himself for having this reaction. He isn’t a crier, and even more importantly, he doesn’t cry in front of people, and he sure as hell isn’t going to cry in front of Steve again. 

He doesn’t want anybody else, he can’t trust anybody else, because Steve may be many things, but at the top of that list is ‘fucking great at his job’. But he can’t force the man to work for him, to be around him at all hours of the day when he has such feelings of animosity. Tony isn’t that much of a dick. 

He opens his mouth to say something, later he won’t remember what, when the first gunshot is fired. 

Steve shields Tony with his body automatically, and Tony wants to believe that it’s not the years of training, that it’s instinct to protect Tony, but he knows better. Happy swerves and the car crashes, slamming them forward as Steve forces him down out of sight from the windows. 

Happy isn’t moving but Tony can’t think about that, can only think about the gunfire and Steve holding him down and shouting over the oppressive noise. 

“Stay here and don’t move,” he orders, eyes searching Tony’s as they crouch behind the door. “The wall is bulletproof, but you need to stay here. I need to go draw their fire, stay here until help arrives.” His tone leaves no room for argument, and Tony is too shocked to try, but no, Steve can’t leave him here, he can’t--

Steve ducks out of the car, locking the door as he closes it quickly, and Tony hears more gunfire and shouting. He hears Steve’s voice but can’t make out the words he’s saying over his own heavy breathing, and he opens his phone camera and holds it up so that he can see a fraction of what is going on. 

He shouldn’t be here, he should be out helping; he can fire a gun, he can do… things. He angles the phone so that he can see Steve, crouched behind a car and firing. Steve rolls out and Tony can’t see him for a moment, but he’s fighting alone against what has to be at least three people that he can see. 

Fuck this. Tony reaches into the glove compartment and grabs the emergency handgun, reaching past Happy who is unconscious, bleeding forehead against the steering wheel. Just as he gets out of the car, Steve gets shot twice in the leg, body crumpling to the ground. 

He runs over, firing wildly at the masked individuals to distract from Steve, anything that will keep him safe. He crouches next to Steve, shaking his arm. 

“Steve, Steve,” he calls, and Steve blinks awake, trying to sit up. 

“Tony, what are you--” White hot pain lances through his shoulder and the world goes cold for a second, and the last thing he hears before he’s knocked out is, “TONY, NO!” 

…

Tony is no novice to torture. He escaped the terrorists in Afghanistan, not untouched, and he spent the better part of his life designing weapons for fuck’s sake. But it’s definitely no picnic. 

They want to know how to use the arc reactor technology to design nuclear weapons, knowledge that Tony is not too keen on sharing, and he points out as much as well as the fact that he hasn’t designed weapons for over five years. They don’t really seem to care. 

He doesn’t know how long he’s in the grimy room, chained by the wrists to a pipe above his head, toes barely touching the floor. He’s half asleep, although half unconscious from exhaustion is probably a more accurate description, when he’s awoken by gunshots. 

He looks around, world spinning and the edges of his vision turning gray and blurry, and when he can’t keep his eyes open anymore, he thinks he feels a hand on his shoulders. Please don’t hurt him anymore. 

…

Tony is faintly aware of the hum of machinery, a steady beeping of a heart monitor, and the tone of distant voices. He tries to open his eyes but they feel glued and heavy and it takes a few tries to get them open. 

As soon as his eyes do flicker open, the blinding fluorescent light scorches his retinas and he’s forced to close his eyes immediately once more. He steels himself to try again, opening just a crack to allow himself to adjust to the harsh light. 

He eventually is able to blink open more, the room fuzzy and unclear, and it hurts when he moves his eyes too rapidly. He slowly looks around the room that has pale, blue walls, bleached and lifeless. 

There’s a pressure in his hand, something that is warm and has a comfortable weight, and when Tony looks at the cause, it is a large hand with graceful fingers, one that is connected to a fuzzy arm and an even fuzzier man. Tony blinks, trying to clear the image, but he would recognize the figure anywhere. He can tell from the blonde hair and broad shoulders that it’s Steve, despite the fact that the usually straight posture with which he sits is replaced by slumped shoulders and a head hanging low. 

The image clears further but there is still a throbbing behind his right eye, but he can ignore that for now. Steve’s eyes are downcast and dull above dark circles. His lashes are as long and dark as ever, casting thin strands of shadow on his cheeks.

Tony opens his mouth to say something but all that comes out is a strange croak so he clears his throat to try again, but Steve’s eyes flash up to his, relief, anguish and something Tony can’t place in a chaotic mix flashing in his eyes. 

“Tony,” Steve murmurs with such relief that Tony’s chest feels warm. The hand in his own tightens and Steve leans forward slowly, looking at Tony like some wounded animal, not wanting to overwhelm him. 

“What--” Tony whispers, fighting against his constricted throat, when Steve hushes him. 

“You’re safe, don’t worry, we got the people who attacked you. You’re okay,” Steve assures him. Tony squeezes his hand and doesn’t care if he looks like the scared little boy he feels like because it doesn’t matter, Steve is here telling Tony he’s safe, and this much Tony can believe. Steve never lies to him. 

Steve’s free hand brushes Tony’s fringe out of his face just as Pepper enters the room, heels clicking on the linoleum floor. His hand snaps back as though burned and Tony refuses to look at him. 

“You’re awake,” Pepper says, relief evident in her voice. She isn’t one for apparent affection but she doesn’t seem to be able to keep her worry out of her voice. 

Tony nods and gives her a tired smile, exhaustion finally catching up once more, despite the fact that he was unconscious for who knows how long. She approaches his side, a warm hand giving his arm a squeeze as she takes a seat next to the bed, and while Pepper talks to him, Tony sees Steve stand and slip out of the room quietly. 

It is now that Tony realizes that nothing has changed since their conversation in the car, Steve has no intention of continuing to work for him, and why would he? Tony is a selfish asshole that doesn’t know how to keep his comments to himself and make the people around him want to stay. 

Tony watches his back exit the room and Pepper cuts herself off, following his gaze. “He stayed with you the whole time, you know,” she comments casually, as if she isn’t actually divulging critical information. “Didn’t sleep, barely ate for almost three days,” she continues, lips pursing for a moment as she looks at him considering. 

He doesn’t like her tone, doesn’t like what she’s insinuating no matter how much he wishes she was right. But Tony isn’t an idealist, isn’t a dreamer. He knows the world they live in and he knows who he is. Even still, he wants to thank Steve for all he’s done. 

“I need to…” he trails off, gesturing uselessly, but luckily Pepper knows how to read him better than he can read himself. 

She nods and stands, exiting the room to fetch Steve. Tony is left with the suddenly quiet room, alone with the beeping heart monitor for what could be seconds, what could be minutes. A moment later, he hears voices outside of the room, just past the door which still remains ajar. 

Pepper sounds angry, harsh, despite the fact that Tony can’t quite make out the words, but Steve sounds resolute and exhausted. It’s nearly impossible to be angry with Pepper, Tony can speak from experience. 

“I need to,” he hears Steve say stubbornly. 

“No you don’t,” Pepper argues, “he needs you right now more than ever, and you’re just going to  _ leave? _ ” 

Tony can’t hear the response, muffled voices a mix of frustration and pure exhaustion. He hears Steve ask something, voice pleading, but Pepper remains resolute. 

“No, you can tell him that yourself,” she retorts angrily in a way that leaves no room for argument. A second later, Steve shuffles into the room, head ducked and guilty. Tony hears Peppers heels click briskly away. 

“Hey,” Steve says with a tired smile, walking back to Tony’s bedside. 

“Where are you going?” Tony asks, cutting through the pleasantries, because if Steve’s going to rip off the bandaid, he might as well do it quickly. Steve looks confused and like he’s about to say something idiotic like, ‘to sit down?’ so Tony adds, “Pepper said you were leaving. You’re moving?” 

He tries to keep the emotion out of his voice, tries to make it sound like any other casual conversation, but he knows the words don’t sound even close to an authentic question. 

Steve sighs and frowns slightly, glancing down at his fingers laced in his lap. “No, Mr. Stark,” he says wearily. “Now that you’re awake, I need to go. I’m going to help find better protection, and—”

“I don’t want anyone else. You’re my bodyguard,” Tony argues sourly, sounding like a child but he couldn’t give a flying fuck. 

“Tony, I failed you… I let my emotions get in the way of my job and you got hurt because of it, you—” His voice cracks on the last word and Tony feels a little unsteady, despite the fact that he’s sitting up in a bed. He doesn’t want to cry, he can save that for when he’s alone, when he can let his defenses down. 

His next words somehow work around his filter, somehow work their way out of him despite their grotesque weakness and vulnerability. “Please don’t leave, not you too,” he whispers, exhausted and hurt, and he lacks the energy to filter his words to make him less exposed. 

Steve sighs, purses his lips, brows creased in the center. 

“I don’t want you to go… you don’t have to stay to protect me, but what if—what if you just… stayed?” he asks, knowing he’s not making sense. God, this desperate, clingy person that Steve brings out is embarrassing. 

Steve’s weariness morphs into confusion. “We got the people that were after you, but there may be others in the future… you need more—”

“Okay, so I’ll hire more protection personnel. I’ll take self defense, carry a taser, whatever you  _ want _ , Steve. I can… I can do it.” Tony looks down at his hands before gazing once more at Steve, expression pleading. 

“I’m sure you can, Tony… but I can’t.” The words don’t register, echoing around his brain until Steve stands slowly. Tony’s eyes feel hot and prickly, blood rushing in his ears, lower lip wobbly. He gives Tony a small, melancholy smile. “You deserve more than what I can give you,” he says with such finality that Tony cannot bring himself to argue anymore. He knows the translation, what Steve means even if he doesn’t want to say it; ‘I don’t want you’. 

Tony can’t watch as Steve leaves the room. 

… 

Nat comes in a little bit later and after seeing how Tony is feeling, asks where Steve is. 

“He didn’t tell you? He left,” Tony replies somewhat sharply, not bothering to keep the bitterness out of his voice, and Natasha gives him a dry look. 

“He left,” she repeats doubtfully, arching an elegant eyebrow. 

“Yes, he  _ left _ ,” Tony snaps. He doesn’t want to have this conversation, not with her, not with anyone. Tony knows what she sees, knows that she sees through most people’s barriers no matter how carefully they are put up. “He had the decency to make sure I was cognizant and when I asked him to stay, he  _ left _ .” 

He’s breathing somewhat hard, but he’ll blame that on the lack of sleep and his numerous injuries. 

Now Natasha’s expression falters for a brief moment, disbelief flickering over before smoothing once more. “You asked him to stay?” she asks, brows furrowed. 

“Yes,” he breathes out heavily, propping himself up further so that he can make his way to the bathroom. He doesn’t comment on the fact that Nat has to help him. “Now if that’s all you needed…”

“Just wanted to see how you were doing,” she responds coolly, not rising to match his temper. “I’ll check on you later,” she says, eyes considering, calculating, before she breezes out of the room. Tony doesn’t like it, doesn’t like when she gets that conspiring look in her eyes, but he doesn’t have the energy to try to figure out what she’s planning. He just wants her gone so that he is free to wallow on his own. 

…

Tony gets new bodyguards, at Pepper’s insistence. He doesn’t learn their names, doesn’t make conversation or jokes and pretty much isolates himself in the garage for a couple weeks straight. Pepper comes and lectures him for wallowing but Tony doesn’t really care if he is. The only people who would know are Pepper and Rhodey, and Tony had poured his heart out to the two of them already about all that had happened. 

The bodyguards try to stay out of his way, a hovering, oppressive presence constantly just  _ there _ , taking up space, looking broody and intimidating rather than the cool, poised air with which Steve stood; a comfortable presence, one that eased the tension in Tony’s shoulders rather than adding to it, at least until their last week. 

“Sir, Ms. Romanoff has stated that if she is sent to voice mail again, she will not hesitate to break in,” Jarvis’ voice cuts into Tony’s tinkering, the first time since he was muted after reminding Tony that he hasn’t eaten in his disapproving tone. 

“Alright, J, patch her through,” he replies, wiping his hands on a hand towel. 

“Are you busy Friday?” she asks without greeting or even a hello. 

“Why, hello dear Natasha, how ever has this week been treating you? So nice of you to call,” Tony says with exaggerated sarcasm, even though he knows she won’t stoop to his level. He can almost hear the eye roll, though. “Whether or not I’m free depends entirely on the information you are about to give me,” he states, shooting a text to Pepper while he’s at it that, yes, he is eating and sleeping. (Lies, but what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her). 

“Great, I’m coming over Friday and we’re gonna hang out,” she says, ending the call without giving Tony the opportunity to respond, but he’s been friends with her long enough to know that this is to be expected. 

…

“Jarvis, let me know when Nat gets here,” Tony says Friday afternoon, heading down to the lab. 

He’s finished two cups of coffee when he hears shouting outside, and he’s just standing to attention when the door bangs open. One of the bodyguards, Tim or Jim or some other monosyllabic word, barges in hastily and begins to say, “Sir, a Mr. Rogers—”

“Let me  _ through!”  _ And then there’s Steve, barreling in like a blaze of glory, all heat and energy, a torch in the middle of Tony’s gloom. 

“Steve?” Tony asks, shocked and embarrassingly thrilled to see Steve in his home again, large and imposing, a threat to be reckoned with. Tony instantly feels a hundred times safer, because Steve is  _ here _ . 

“ _ Tony, _ ” he cries, attempting to rush at Tony, to do what, Tony is unsure. Tim/Jim tries to grab him but Steve shoves him off like he’s not a six foot man that is largely built, but rather a pesky child. 

Tony holds up a hand at his current bodyguard when Tim/Jim tries to approach and turns to Steve. “What are you doing here?” he asks, glancing at Tim/Jim and flicking his eyes to the door, and the bodyguard dips his head politely and exits the room. Tony takes a moment to observe in Steve’s appearance, dressed in a simple t-shirt and fading jeans. His hair is a goddamn wreck and there are prominent circles beneath his eyes. 

“Nat said there was some kind of emergency, that she couldn’t get here, but I--” Steve takes a deep, shaky breath, hands gripping Tony’s shoulders as though to make sure he’s real, he’s okay. 

“That’s crazy, there’s no emergency. Steve, I’m fine, I promise,” he consoles when Steve’s worry does not fade, nor do his hands drop. 

“You’re…” 

“Yes. Nat is supposed to come any minute and watch--” he cuts himself off because apparently his supposed friend is much more conniving than he had originally thought. He straightens his posture and gives his best dispassionate look. “Well, as you can see, I’m fine, no emergency, so you can get back to doing… whatever you’ve been doing,” Tony finishes lamely, as glacially as he can manage. 

He steps out of Steve’s warm grip when he still hasn’t dropped his hands and walks back around the work table. “You haven’t been eating,” Steve says, voice more hurt than accusatory, full of worry. But what right does Steve have anymore to come barging in, checking in on Tony’s safety, giving him shit for not eating?

Tony chooses to ignore the comment, instead repeating without looking up from the tool in his hands, “Didn’t you hear me? I don’t pay you anymore. So you are free to  _ leave _ ,” he enunciates slowly, leaving out the ‘again’. He glances up and something in Steve’s face darkens at his last word, eyes thawing until instead of fear, they hold grief. 

“Tony--” Steve begins, taking a step closer, but Tony throws up his hands, a protective barrier between them, brandishing the screwdriver like a weapon. 

“No, Rogers, you’re the one that wanted to leave, and I don’t need you showing up randomly at my home to distract me and...and confuse me again. You wanted out, so get out,” he snaps, crossing his arms across his chest. 

“I didn’t--that’s not what I wanted,” Steve says pleadingly, voice hurt and his brows pursed together. 

“Potato, tomato, that’s what you did.” 

“That doesn’t even make--” Steve shakes his head. “It wasn’t because of…” He huffs a frustrated sigh and runs his hand roughly through his hair, something he only does when Tony makes him particularly agitated, and Tony wishes he would just learn to finish a goddamn sentence. “I did it because I thought it was best for you,” Steve mumbles, looking sufficiently like a scolded child, to the point that Tony actually wants to let it drop and close the distance between them, but he can’t forget that this isn’t what Steve wants, that he doesn’t return Tony’s feelings in that way. 

“News flash, Rogers, you don’t get to decide what’s best for me. Not anymore.” He can’t quite keep his tone as icy as he’d like, can’t keep out the twinge of hurt that seeps through. 

“You’re right,” Steve says tiredly, wiping a hand down his face. Tony doesn’t bother hiding his taken aback expression. He had expected more of a fight. “Look, Tony. I have nightmares almost every night. Many times, I don’t know where I am, who I’m with… I haven’t been able to sleep in the same room as anyone since I came home… until, you know. But I don’t want to put you through that, I couldn’t live with myself knowing that you got hurt again because of me, I can’t--” 

They’ve been unknowingly creeping closer and Tony closes the distance, effectively cutting him off by kissing him firmly on the mouth. It’s hot and messy, out of control with pent up feelings that have been building for months, all the grief of losing Steve, of being so close to having him, seeing him shot and in pain… an entire spectrum of emotions Tony didn’t know he was capable of. 

His hands tangle in Steve’s hair for just a moment before he pulls back, because he needs to get the words out now before he becomes too distracted in the warm wetness that is Steve’s delicious mouth. He places a hand on Steve’s chest, to keep them apart enough that Tony can speak but not allowing him to remove himself from Tony’s bodyspace. 

“I get to decide what’s best for me, what risks I take, all of that. The risk of losing you entirely is way worse to me than anything that might happen, when…”

Steve purses his lips, fidgeting nervously. “It’s been years, I haven’t attacked anyone physically because of a dream in over five years, but I don’t want you to have to deal with--” 

Tony cuts him off with a quick shake of his head, holding up a hand. “There is no ‘deal with’. There’s ‘I’m with you so I support you in any way I can’ or there’s ‘you leave and don’t come back’. I’m not--you’re not just one night, or a no strings relationship…” He pulls at his own hair, knowing that the words aren’t coming out the way he wants them to, but Steve’s expression softens and he slowly leans down, allowing Tony the time to back out if he wants, which he definitely doesn’t. 

His lips are soft and pliant, easing Tony’s open with a warmth and gentleness that he’s never felt before, and Tony hesitates before replacing his hands on Steve’s chest, trailing his fingers up to toy with his hair at the nape of his neck. Steve groans low in his throat and Tony feels it more than hears it, feels the rumble against his own chest. 

The kiss deepens, with languid tongues and timid fingers, but it is not the fierce kiss from moments before. This one is patient, exploratory, not the desperate explosion of pent up feelings that have been building for far too long. There will be time for heat later. 

After what could be seconds or several minutes, most likely the latter based on the tingling in Tony’s lips, Steve pulls away slightly, his forehead resting against Tony’s own, sharing their breaths. 

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” Steve whispers, lips just a hair away from brushing against Tony’s own. “At first, just to shut you up,” he adds after a moment, smirking amusedly. 

Tony smacks his chest without heat and holds in a whimper at how hard and firm those pecs are under his fingers. Tony leans upward and closes the distance between them once more, pulling Steve down to meet him halfway.

He rolls his body against that huge, firm mountain of muscles and feels Steve’s erection slide nicely against his own. 

“And  _ you _ have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,” Tony murmurs against Steve’s lips, grasping his tenting cock, “up my ass.” He gives it a good squeeze, reveling in the way Steve’s body automatically thrusts slightly into his hand. He hisses through his teeth and Tony grins viciously, surging up for another kiss. 

They grind against each other like a couple of horny teenagers for another minute, but Tony is not a teenager any longer, and neither is Steve, and he’s been waiting for this cock for a millennium and a half, and he isn’t about to spend another second with something that won’t lead to Steve up Tony’s ass. 

“Still remember where the bedroom is?” he asks, smirking up at Steve with faux innocence from beneath his lashes. 

Steve rolls his eyes but doesn’t appear to be able to keep a smile off his face as he takes Tony by the hand, lacing their fingers together in a way that is intimate and new, something Tony will file away for later. They make their way into the elevator, fingers entwined but nothing else, and it is far too small a space for this amount of sexual tension. 

It’s radiating from Steve’s body, in the power and tension, the way he’s watching Tony with dark, blown eyes. Their sides brush together when Tony shifts closer, suddenly nervous for the first time in a long time to have sex with someone. 

And granted, he’s never anticipated something like this for so long, never really pined for someone the way he did for Steve except for maybe Terra, grades 7-10. But now things are finally reaching their climax, pun very much intended, and Tony feels a slight restlessness in his stomach. 

He’s been waiting for this for so long, imagining the thousand different ways this could happen, where Steve will touch, how he’ll feel, if he’ll spend hours working Tony up, opening him slowly or if he’ll work him roughly with his fingers until Tony’s ready to take what he really wants.

As soon as the elevator door shuts behind them to Tony’s suite, the stress that Tony’s been carrying in his shoulders dissipates slightly. This is familiar territory. He’s eaten with Steve here, watched movies and fallen asleep with him for God’s sake. And besides, sex is one of the top five things Tony is good at (he’s good at too many things to make it the number one). 

But the point is, he likes sex. He likes it with men, women and everything between or outside of. But it’s been a hell of a long time since he’s enjoyed it with someone he cared about as a person. 

“Can I get you anything to drink?” he asks, only half awkwardly, and the corners of Steve’s mouth pull upwards in an amused but fond smile. 

“I’m alright, thank you.” 

Tony heads into the kitchen anyway to get himself some water, mostly to help his nerves but also to give his hands something to do. He drinks deeply, facing the sink, and as he sets the empty glass down on the countertop, he feels large hands on his hips and a wall of warmth behind him. 

Steve’s lips gently kiss just below Tony’s ear, just a whisper against his skin. “Hey,” he murmurs, hands moving from his hips to wrap around his torso in an embrace from behind. “We don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with.” 

And it’s such a Steve thing to say, to make sure Tony is safe and happy and Tony has to remind himself that this isn’t because Tony pays him. He’s not employed by him anymore. He has no obligation to be here that Tony can think of, and he’s pretty good at coming up with worst-possible scenarios, which means… 

He turns in Steve’s arms and the embrace dutifully loosens. “I’ve been waiting for this for months, and I am not a patient man.” 

Steve grins and rolls his eyes, leaning in to kiss Tony softly on his temple. Which, a part of him likes because it makes him feel small and safe, but right now, he doesn’t want to feel safe. He wants to be positively wrecked by what Steve’s hiding in his pants, what Tony knows from feeling a few minutes ago, is probably a gorgeous cock because what kind of guy has Steve’s proportions and isn’t hung as shit? 

Tony leans up on his tip-toes, enjoying Steve’s height not for the first time, and pressing his lips softly against Steve’s. His hands come up to rest on Steve’s pecs again, he wonders if he’ll ever get enough of those and he idly wonders how much better this will be when they are both naked. When he can brush his chest against Steve’s own and feel the heat radiating off of him. 

“Care to inspect my bedroom?” Tony asks teasingly after pulling away from Steve’s mouth. “For old time’s sake.” 

He can’t fight the playful grin now and gosh he missed toying with Steve this way, seeing what buttons he could push and prod and which one’s got him that special smile that is equal parts exasperation and fondness. After a moment of hesitation to make sure Steve’s got the full effect of his most innocent grin, he tugs Steve’s hand, leading him into the other room. 

As soon as the door shuts behind Steve, it’s like a switch has flipped in Tony’s brain. Seeing him standing there with his messy hair--that certainly wasn’t helped by their make out session earlier-- and casual clothing, reminiscent of their nights together…

Tony takes a moment to drink him in, standing in front of the door, allowing Tony to make the first move even though he knows Steve likes to be in control of things, that he’s only doing this because he doesn’t want to overwhelm Tony. His pupils are blown wide, mouth slightly agape with his breath coming slightly faster. His hands clench and release several times at his side and something ignites in Tony’s belly, seeing the restraint it’s taking from a man so powerful, restraining himself from touching  _ Tony. _

It makes him feel special…  _ desired _ . And fuck, after the year he’s had, he really fucking needs this. He takes a slow step toward Steve, who still stands unmoving but nearly vibrating with tension, and kicks his shoes off. His socks follow quickly. 

He’s in a pair of sweats and a tank top, nothing impressive, but he hadn’t been expecting company. Well, company he wanted to fuck, or more accurately, company he wanted to fuck him. 

Steve watches with laser focus as Tony approaches, as coolly as he can manage as though he isn’t about to sleep with the hottest guy on the planet, the one he’s been pining over for the past several months. No, Tony Stark is the epitome of suave. So what if his hands are shaking and he can barely breathe because his heart is blocking his throat. Sue him. 

When he reaches Steve, he tugs at the bottom of his t-shirt, drawing him closer before stealing a kiss. He nibbles gently at Steve’s lower lip before shifting back just enough to toy with the hem of Steve’s shirt, intention clear. Steve’s eyes dance darkly in the low light and he makes quick work out of the cotton tee, revealing miles of golden skin and the ridges of boundless muscle. Steve kicks away his own shoes and socks, unbuttoning his jeans but making no further move to remove them. 

Tony can relate; he knows Steve probably doesn’t want to push or rush him but he, like Tony, (hopefully) is dealing with a raging erection, and Tony is an advanced enough mathematician to know that erection+restrictive clothing=not a fun time. 

He watches Steve’s face carefully, hyper aware of the intensity and heat in those deep blue eyes. Slowly, too slowly, he removes his own shirt, which did little to cover himself but still has the pleasing result of doubling Steve’s intensity and making the air thick with heat. 

When he is bare but for his pants, Steve’s gaze is no longer watching Tony’s face apprehensively. It’s fixed on his chest, his torso, and isn’t that a wonderful feeling,  _ seeing _ the effect his body has on a guy that can easily be compared to Adonis. He closes the distance between them quickly, the rubber band of self control snapping as he lunges into the larger man. 

He crowds him against the wall, using his body to force Steve’s back to touch the hard surface, and they both know that Steve could easily reverse their positioning, probably without an ounce of effort, but for the moment, Steve lets himself be pressed against the wall and kissed fiercely without inhibitions. 

Tony can finally explore the muscles and smooth skin he’s been admiring for ages, while Steve’s hands in turn are fucking everywhere. They don’t seem to be able to keep still, roaming and wandering over Tony’s chest, his abs, pinching lightly at his nipples in a way that makes his skin flush and his pants feel tighter. 

He can’t control the undulations of his hips, rolling against Steve’s erection with a sweet, sweet friction, and Steve doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, his hands are now gripping his hips, guiding his movements so that their still covered dicks slide together. 

“You are so gorgeous,” Steve murmurs in his ear before finally reversing their positioning so that Tony is the one that’s forced up against the wall, and oh, isn’t that a lovely development. 

Now, Tony can feel every hard line of Steve’s body pressed against his own, all of the power tensed in those delicious muscles. It’s overwhelming and Tony has too many things that he wants to focus on: the hard ridges under his fingers, the heat emanating from Steve’s body, the breathless words of praise whispered in his ear as their cocks grind against one another… 

Steve’s teeth bite down on Tony’s earlobe on a particularly hard thrust and the assault of sensation makes heat pool in his belly. His fingers grip at Steve’s exposed back, half exploring and half searching for something to grab onto for dear life. 

The teeth at his ear nibble lower, placing a kiss at the sensitive area just below before trailing down his throat. Steve’s hands slide to Tony’s hips, toying with the waistline of his pants, request clear. Tony murmurs his assent and Steve places a harder, sucking kiss at the hollow of his throat before pulling the pants off, leaving Tony standing in his briefs. 

Tony’s hands slide down from that muscular back, (how the fuck does someone even get that buff?), down to the ass he’s been admiring since day one. God, and it’s rock hard because what part of Steve isn’t? He uses the leverage to pull Steve even closer, moving up to tug at the belt loops playfully. 

Steve removes himself briefly from pollucking Tony’s neck to grin at him, and even though he’s seen that smile countless times, even though he’s been staring and feeling this body for the past several minutes, it is at this moment that Tony is truly struck by the fact that Steve is really  _ this _ beautiful, and even still, he wants Tony. 

That brief, boyish smile because of Tony,  _ for  _ Tony, is what brings Tony to lift his chin to steal another kiss. He wonders if he’ll ever grow tired of kissing this man, and despite knowing that he never will, he is more than willing to put the theory to the test. Again and again. 

“Bed,” Tony finally gets out, breaking away for just a millisecond before resuming their kiss for another minute. 

Steve chuckles, no doubt at the lack of a full sentence, and pulls Tony in the direction of the bed by his hips, walking backward without breaking their kiss. He sets Tony on his back with surprising gentleness and something about the knowledge that he could toss Tony around like nothing but treats him like something precious and almost delicate really does something to Tony’s insides. 

But after this, they will definitely need to have a talk about Steve pinning him down with just his hands. Ooh, or tying them to the bedpost and then fucking him hard from behind… Infinite possibilities. 

Tony lies there, sprawled across the comforter on his back, before propping himself up on his elbows so he can watch with acute concentration as Steve’s thumbs dip into the waistband of his jeans and slowly pull them off. He drags his briefs down moments later after meeting Tony’s eyes for permission, which he is oh so happy to give. 

Now he is bare before Tony, cock jutting proudly away from his body and fuck, Tony had been right, Steve is hung as fuck. Tony forces his eyes back up to sees face to see what he’s feeling, and the look Steve is giving him is so dark and full of heat that Tony has to suppress a whimper then and there. 

Steve’s eyes sweep across his body, lingering on his bare chest and still covered cock--why does his still have clothes on? Steve is naked as the day he was born, and what a sight it is, and the sooner Tony gets rid of the remainder of his clothing, that tiny inconsequential barrier, the sooner Steve can get in him. 

He starts to stick his thumbs in the tight briefs but luckily Steve is on the same wavelength because he is crawling over Tony’s body, all heat and control and blown eyes. He places a searing kiss on Tony’s lips before trailing lower, revisiting his throat that no doubt already has a litany of bruises from Steve’s lips and teeth. He sucks hard against one sensitive spot, airing slightly on the edge of pain and it makes Tony’s hips thrust up off of the bed. 

Steve’s hands glide down his sides to his hips and he pauses just above the edge of the underwear, glancing up at Tony’s face. 

“This okay baby?” 

Well. The speed at which blood rushes to Tony’s cock at the pet name is nearly painful. 

Tony nods hurriedly and Steve peppers his chest with kisses. He pays special attention to Tony’s nipples which are hard and peaked, suckling and nibbling softly at the sensitive nubs. He laves at each one as his fingers explore his rib cage and abs. Tony cries out when sharp teeth nip at the flesh, hips jerking once more, and his hands move to tangle in Steve’s hair, searching for an anchor. 

When his nipples are reddened and slightly swollen, Steve moves lower still, placing soft, reverent kisses down his slightly soft stomach, just a brush of his lips that almost tickles and yet somehow still makes his cock jump. 

Steve places a kiss just below his navel and Tony can’t hold back the soft, “Please,” that escapes him. Those long fingers finally remove the fucking underwear and the cool air and lack of restriction feels like heaven. Fuck, Steve has barely touched him and he already feels ready. 

When the briefs are gone and pulled off of his ankles, the warm hands, the hands that hold so much power and strength contrasted with how gentle they are on Tony’s skin, trail up from Tony’s ankles, parting his thighs and settling between them. He pushes Tony’s legs up to expose him further and there is a slight feeling of vulnerability of being put on display in such a way, but the look in Steve’s eyes changes that entirely. 

Those dark blues are drinking him in, not making any effort to conceal his desire, and isn’t that a novel feeling? It isn’t new for Tony to be fucking someone attractive, he isn’t modest enough to deny that, but this isn’t just some greek god he picked up in a club. This is Steve,  _ Steve _ , who’s been by his side for half a year now, who’s kind and sweet and surprisingly funny despite seeming like a huge grump at the beginning… Steve, who’s saved his fucking life for Christ’s sake. 

Steve’s lips press gently to the soft flesh of his inner thigh, mere inches away from where Tony truly wants him. 

“Please,” he repeats, only a little desperately but if you ask him, he’ll deny it. 

“Tell me what you need, baby,” Steve mumbles against his skin, and it’s not teasing, Tony can tell. He’s asked that question countless times before, right when they’re close to orgasm, speechless and unable to form intelligible words. This isn’t like that. 

Steve genuinely wants to know what to give Tony so that he can give him the very best because that’s just the kind of guy Steve is: disgustingly nice. 

“Just touch me.” The words are a sigh, barely tangible, floating in the air. 

Some of the heat in Steve’s eyes changes to something different, softer. It’s less the dark heat of want and need but rather the gentle warmth of tenderness and affection. His lips twitch in the smallest of smiles, the most secret and involuntary. 

“Anything you want,” he whispers, so softly that Tony isn’t sure if their meant for him, if it was intended for him to hear. 

Steve’s mouth engulfs his cock without warning and Tony stifles a shout, because  _ fuck _ . His tongue swirls around the sensitive head before swallowing him down entirely and Tony barely manages to keep his hips on the bed. 

It is an onslaught of sensation, Steve’s hands feeling his skin and soothing his enflamed flesh with cool caresses, his wet mouth hot and perfect around his dick… and fuck, watching those lips stretch around him in a ceaseless rhythm, his eyes closed with concentration as a hand wraps around Tony’s base, increasing the pace and the pressure. 

Tony has fucked around--he’s rather infamous for it--but he has never had such an intense sexual experience, let alone one without anything more than oral. Yet. Tony really hopes Steve will remedy that soon, as much as he is enjoying this. 

The lips begin to stray from his cock, kissing and sucking down the shaft until he reaches the crease of his thigh. The eyes meet Tony’s once more, a silent request, and Tony’s hand reaches down to push Steve’s hair out of his face and then to playfully nudge him down to his target. 

The smirk Steve fixes him with is downright filthy and damn if Tony’s cock wasn’t already at full capacity… 

But Tony’s thoughts come to a screeching halt when Steve spread’s Tony’s legs as wide as they will go and dips his head to the point where Tony can hardly see without straining his neck. But he doesn’t need to see. Every single nerve impulse has become completely focused on his most intimate area being stroked curiously by a wet, hot tongue. 

“Fuck,” Tony groans out, head rolling back. He feels Steve’s chuckle in a vibration against him that is surprisingly intense, but Steve is quick to distract as his inhibitions seem to have vanished and he is rimming him like some sort of professional. And Steve is perfect in every other way, why wouldn’t he be perfect in this? 

God, his tongue is fucking magic, reaching and opening him up in a way no one has ever taken the time to do, but Steve isn’t like the others; Steve isn’t some one night stand focused on reaching their own orgasm as quickly and effeciently as possible. Steve wants Tony to feel good, wants to find pleasure in the enjoyment of the other, just like Tony does. 

He toys with the tight muscle of Tony’s hole with a finger as his tongue dances within and Tony is already close. If he keeps this up for much longer, it’s going to be over before it starts. The finger probes deeper but Tony cannot focus fully on it, Steve’s tongue is much too distracting. 

It slowly makes its way into Tony’s body after a hushed, “Is this okay?”, to which Tony nods hurriedly. The finger slowly stretches and is eventually joined by another, filling him deeply and the slight burn of the stretch is a welcome presence. It’s been so long since he’s been prepped by another person, let alone one that took their time in opening him up slowly, making it a pleasurable experience rather than a rushed one to get to the main event. 

Tony is feeling pleasantly loose by the time Steve inserts a third digit, carefully spreading his fingers to prepare Tony for what is to come. Literally. The fingers brush against his prostate once more as his tongue dips into his rim again, and Tony cannot keep his hips from thrusting off the bed. 

“Steve, you gotta… stop,” he pants breathlessly. 

“You okay?” Steve asks worriedly, removing his fingers immediately, not quickly enough for it to hurt, but the feeling is not pleasant. He apologizes when Tony hisses softly. 

“Yeah, yeah, just don’t wanna come yet,” he assures, pulling Steve up over his body and Steve lets him do so with ease. “I want you in me first,” he murmurs, looking up at Steve from beneath his lashes, trailing his fingers down Steve’s back to his hip and finally cupping his flushed cock. His cheeks are tinged red, and he blushes further at Tony’s words, which is ridiculous for someone who had his tongue in Tony’s ass not a minute ago. 

When Tony’s fingers wrap around Steve’s erection, tugging it gently a few times and enjoying the velvety feel of someone else’s cock in his hand, heavy and hard but smooth and soft at the same time. He’s always loved cock, jacking guys off, sucking them, etc., but this is somehow all the more arousing because this isn’t some nameless penis he picked up in a bar that couldn’t give two shits about him; this is Steve, who happens to be larger than life, taking up a whole room with his presence and not just because he’s far over six feet tall. Steve, who is strong and untouchable but somehow soft and vulnerable in the safety of the dark, Steve, who somehow manages to make Tony feel exposed in all of his vulnerabilities and somehow safer than any other time in his life. 

He strokes Steve gently, his tip leaking steadily into his hand as his hips twitch in an effort not to thrust forward. It appears Steve is just as eager for this as Tony is. 

“Lube?” Steve questions after sucking in a shaky breath. 

“Top drawer.” 

Steve retrieves the condoms and lube, kneeling on the bed as he fumbles with the small container. He fumbles it open and manages to get some of the liquid on his fingers and returns between Tony’s legs. His touch is more purposeful this time, focused on making sure Tony is properly prepped and and won’t get hurt rather than trying to pleasure him. Tony assumes it’s because Steve is as ready as Tony is, and he doesn’t want to set Tony off too early. 

Still, his fingertips skate over his prostate a couple times, making his hips lurch off of the mattress with a moan in his throat. He opens slicks Tony up quickly but carefully, and soon Tony is shoving him off so that they can get this show on the road. He’s fucking ready. And ready for fucking. 

Steve pulls back and watches Tony with dark eyes and blown pupils as he rips open the condom. He puts it on, giving himself a couple strokes with the lube, which is way more arousing to watch than it should be. 

“How do you want to do this?” Steve asks, the slightest hint of hesitance in his stance, despite his cock jutting out proudly. 

“I wanna see you,” Tony says softly, biting his lower lip. 

“Okay, baby, do you want to be on your back or on top?” 

Instead of answering, Tony lies back down and shoves a pillow under his hips so that they are elevated for optimal positioning. Steve chuckles at his enthusiasm, the thick tension and vibration in the air loosening slightly. Tony is taut like a wire, nearly out of his own skin, and God, he can’t remember the last time he was this aroused. 

Steve positions himself carefully and Tony wraps his legs around Steve’s hips. Steve watches Tony’s face carefully as the blunt head of his cock meets Tony’s entrance. As the tip pushes through the tighter ring of muscle, Tony throws his head back and sighs out a breath of relief. Steve groans as he slides in further and mouths at Tony’s exposed throat, his moans vibrating against Tony’s pulse point. 

Steve slowly seats himself fully, drawing an unsteady breath as he hesitates for a moment, letting Tony adjust to the exquisite thickness and length within him. He clenches around Steve experimentally and Steve hisses. He feels Steve’s length twitch within him in response, and a part of him thrills at knowing that it is because of him. 

He tightens his legs around Steve’s narrow hips, pleading him move, and luckily Steve takes the hint and draws back until just the tip is left within Tony before quickly pressing in once more. He establishes a rhythm quickly, the room filling with the sound of skin slapping skin and hushed breaths and moans. 

Tony clutches desperately at Steve’s broad shoulders, rolling his hips in time to Steve’s endless thrusts that soon quicken in speed and strength. Steve draws back, looking down at Tony, and even in the muted light he is still the most beautiful person Tony has ever laid eyes on. Steve’s cock brushes against his prostate and Tony can’t keep in his gasp. 

Steve appears surprised for a beat but then, upon realizing, grins mischievously. He thrusts forward precisely, carefully, and yes, right there, again. 

Tony mumbles random words of praise, a litany of “please”, “more,” “fuck, Steve, there!” escaping him without thought. Steve is quieter but still murmurs sweet nothings next to his ear, grunting out his own praise in time to his thrusts. 

The ceaseless stimulation of Tony’s prostate is drawing him closer to climax far quicker than he anticipated, not that he’s complaining. But he wants to know that Steve is on the same page as him. 

“Steve…’m close,” he manages to get out and the thrusts stutter momentarily. 

Steve drops his forehead again and lets out a soft groan next to Tony’s ear as his rhythm speeds up. “Come on, baby,” he rumbles out, snapping his hips forward and rubbing against that magical spot inside of him. 

“Please,” he whimpers out, and any other situation it would be embarrassing, but he’s too caught up in his own pleasure to think about it. 

A hand wraps around his leaking cock that throbs against his stomach. Steve tugs him roughly and it’s simultaneously too much and just right, accompanied by the ache in his prostate and the thick feeling of fullness, Tony doesn’t stand a chance. 

He clenches down hard and cries out his release, emptying himself into Steve’s hand. Steve follows soon after with a couple more rough thrusts that no longer have the same careful positioning as before. Steve gasps and shakes into Tony’s neck before pulling out and collapsing at Tony’s side. 

When Tony gains his bearings, he looks blearily at Steve gazing at the ceiling, his chest heaving. When he finally turns to look at Tony, he fixes him with the dopiest, boyish smile Tony has ever seen on the other man and it makes something stir in his chest that he doesn’t know how to name. 

“Hey,” Tony says shyly, not sure where to look with the blinding wattage of his smile. Fuck, he’s gorgeous. 

“Hi,” Steve replies with a crooked smile. He closes the distance between them and places a chaste kiss on Tony’s mouth, not allowing enough time for Tony to return it. “That was…” Steve begins, trailing off as he shakes his head with wonder. 

“For me too,” Tony replies with a smile, and damn, when has he ever felt this shy after sex? Oh, it must have been the last time he had groundbreaking, earth shattering, soul exploding sex--so never. 

Steve looks at him for another moment with what appears to be disbelief, and he hops out of the bed suddenly. Tony doesn’t know how he has the energy to move at all, let alone get out of bed. If it were up to Tony, they would spend the next several hours in a haze of cuddling, napping, and of course, more fucking. 

Steve heads into the restroom and Tony hears water running for a moment. He returns a moment later having removed the condom and with a damp washcloth in his hand. He cleans Tony up gently, which he has to add to the list of things a partner has never done for him until now. 

He returns to the bathroom for another moment and Tony idly wonders if he should get up and get dressed? If he should at least cover himself? In the end, he drapes the sheet over his lower half so that he doesn’t feel entirely exposed when Steve comes back. 

When Steve reenters the room, he is still unclothed and seemingly unashamed in his nakedness. And with a body like that, why would he be? 

He crawls back into the bed carefully, giving Tony more space than he’d prefer considering that now that he’s gotten to, he wants to maintain contact at pretty much all times possible. Tony reaches a hand out, a silent question, and Steve must feel the shifting in the mattress because Tony’s fingers brush against an outstretched wrist. 

Steve moves his hand up and laces their fingers together, and somehow the small act makes Tony’s heart race, despite the fact that just a few minutes ago Steve was balls deep within him. Another moment and Steve tugs Tony’s hand gently, request clear. 

Tony is all too eager to take it and shifts over, curling into Steve’s side after letting go of his hand (unfortunately). He pillows his head on Steve’s enormous chest and feels a large arm wrap around his back, drawing him even closer. And yeah, Tony hasn’t done this in a while, and it’s nice. 

Steve’s fingertips trail feather-lightly along Tony’s spine, a soothing touch that is barely there but still manages to send the occasional shiver down his back. The touch eases the tension in his shoulders that he always carries, built from hours hunched over a table. The fingers work up at his shoulders, loosening the knots gently before continuing to stroke Tony’s cheek. 

Tony nuzzles further into Steve’s bare chest that is surprisingly comfortable, and so warm. 

“I’m glad you came back,” he mumbles into the safe warmth and he feels more than hears the chest hum in agreement as the arm tightens around him. 

“I’m so sorry I left,” Steve whispers to the darkness and Tony’s ribs tighten with unease at the memory, at the days passed without time or significance. The arms tighten once more around Tony’s shoulders. He feels Steve’s lips in his hair and he rubs his cheek against his chest. 

He doesn’t say it’s alright because it isn’t, not yet, but Tony knows that eventually it will be. Instead he sinks further into Steve’s embrace and revels in the feel of his arms around him. 

…

Steve doesn’t have nightmares that night, he tells Tony, and waking up in Steve’s embrace (with his morning wood pressed against his ass), is the happiest Tony can remember being in a long time. And even though he knows the nightmares will come and the fights and the makeup sex, he is content to enjoy this while he has it. 


End file.
